


we never said goodbye

by jortsbian



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, SMAU Counterpart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29833113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jortsbian/pseuds/jortsbian
Summary: Bill doesn’t notice his phone slipping from his grasp until he hears it clutter to the ground. It seems to spur them both into motion. While Bill scrambles to pick his phone back up, Richie mutters a heartfelt“what the fuck”and retches. Bill wants to be disgusted, but honestly, he can’t fault him for it. He feels shell-shocked. Misery, it turns out, has no limit. He thought he had mourned Eddie as much as he was able, but standing in front of his body—his remains, and barely that—he’s hit with a wave of it so powerful it nearly knocks him over. Here is his brother in all but blood, united with Bill’s only other brother by virtue of death. Bill knows with no uncertainty that he will never truly be whole again.A counterpart to @UntilEternityAU on Twitter
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	we never said goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read my SMAU, [@UntilEternityAU](https://twitter.com/UntilEternityAU), this probably won't make much sense. Title from All I'm Saying by James.
> 
> Warning for emetophobia and depictions of skeletons.

To be completely transparent, Bill feels scraped fucking raw.

The idea of returning to Derry had been less than ideal from the moment it was mentioned, to put it as kindly as possible. Bill, foolishly, had thought it would be miserable but bearable now that It is dead, or that if it isn’t at least he would be able to keep one of his friends from suffering by returning in their place. He hadn’t anticipated that in the absence of It, loss forms itself tangibly into all the nooks and crannies It carved out. The townhouse, impossibly, is worse—the moment he’d stepped inside, he’d remembered viscerally the grief that had overtaken them all once the elation of killing Pennywise had worn off. He’d been surprised to hear Richie clear his throat behind him, so sure had he been that he would have to drag Richie out of Eddie’s empty room and into the shower like they had taken turns doing before Richie fled back to Los Angeles. 

But, Bill reminded himself, that was well over two years ago now. Still, the grief sticks like a knife in his chest, embedded the moment he’d crossed the Derry town line and still firm in the depths of the caves below. Although, of course, that isn’t entirely true—grief has been heavy in his heart since Bill was twelve and discovering the enormity of hurt in the world for the first time. Grief and mourning have been as much a part of Bill as his name and his body, surer than his voice and his memory. 

The decision to find Eddie early had been as unanimous as it hadn’t been a decision in the first place. The hunch of Richie’s shoulders told Bill he wanted it over with as much as he did. In the end, all it had taken was a suggestion before they were bundling themselves to the store and heading once more into the depths of Derry’s rotten soul. 

It had been easier to navigate than expected. The journey had been horribly nostalgic, but clearing out collapsed tunnels was a welcome distraction from the foreboding he’s all too accustomed to. But now, standing in a cavern which is either miraculously or torturously still largely intact and staring at the skeletal remnants of his oldest friend, Bill regrets every decision he’s made to bring him here. If asked to pinpoint the moment it all went wrong, he’d be unable to choose just one—did it start when he dragged his friends into Neibolt, or earlier? Was it playing sick when Georgie wanted to race paper boats, or the moment he was born screaming in a world that would scream back in his face as long as he lived? It’s impossible to tell. 

Bill doesn’t notice his phone slipping from his grasp until he hears it clutter to the ground. It seems to spur them both into motion. While Bill scrambles to pick his phone back up, Richie mutters a heartfelt  _ “what the fuck” _ and retches. Bill wants to be disgusted, but honestly, he can’t fault him for it. He feels shell-shocked. Misery, it turns out, has no limit. He thought he had mourned Eddie as much as he was able, but standing in front of his body—his  _ remains, _ and barely that—he’s hit with a wave of it so powerful it nearly knocks him over. Here is his brother in all but blood, united with Bill’s only other brother by virtue of death. Bill knows with no uncertainty that he will never truly be whole again.

“Okay,” he whispers, mostly to himself. Richie looks up at him desperately regardless, looking just as wrecked as Bill feels. Moreso, if he knows Richie at all, and he always has. Richie feels everything with a depth that startles Bill. They are deeply similar, he’s uncomfortably aware of it, but Richie has always had a softer center than Bill. He wants, suddenly, to shield Richie away from this. The most he can do is get it over with. “Okay. I’m going to do it.”

Richie nods brokenly and steps aside, and suddenly Bill has a clear vision of Eddie. A number of his ribs are shattered front and back, clearly delineating exactly where he was killed. Bill’s breath sticks in his chest, heart stuttering in sympathy. 

“Hey, Eddie,” he begins quietly. It feels too casual, but he can’t come up with anything else without bawling. As it is, he already feels teary-eyed. “Sorry we left you down here. I hope you know it broke all of our hearts to do it. We—we miss you bad, buddy.”

Clearing his throat, Bill opens his phone back up. He gestures to it towards the skeleton, chuckling sadly.

“I wrote down a little list of things I wanted to say. I thought you might appreciate that. It’s, uh. I mean, it’s not enough. But it’s what I could do.”

Richie laughs wetly, and Bill knows without looking at him that he’s crying. He can’t blame him for a second. He fumbles to open his notes app, though he’s sure he doesn’t need it. There’s no shortage of things he wants to say to Eddie.

“To start, you’re—you’ve always been a brother to me. Since the day we met. Nothing can ever change that, okay? And… I’m sorry I yelled at you, that day. I know you were just scared. We were all scared, of course you were scared. I was terrified. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. But just because you were scared doesn’t mean you weren’t brave, you know that? You’ve always been brave. I wish I was half as brave as you. And—and because you’re so brave, I know you’re tough, but it’s okay to let go. We love you, we always will. You can figure out what happens next. I love you, man. I wish I got the chance to say goodbye properly. I wish I didn’t have to in the first place.”

By the time he’s done, there’s no stopping the tears dripping from Bill’s eyes, but he’s alright with it. Eddie’s presence is tangible in the air around him, and he feels as close to forgiven as he’s ever felt. Richie claps him on the shoulder heavily, a faux show of casualness both of them know is far from reality. 

“You wanna go?” Bill asks. Richie swallows hard but nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Richie wipes the tears from his face as he kneels down next to Eddie’s body, but it seems a bit fruitless to Bill when they immediately reappear. Richie clears his throat hard. “Um. Okay. I—I don’t really know what to say. I didn’t come up with a speech or anything like Bill did, so I’m just gonna wing it. Sorry, Eds. You deserve better than that, I know that. You deserve the whole world. Always have. You’re my best friend, you know that? Of all the Losers, you’ve always been my favorite. Sorry, Bill. And—” Richie breaks off on a sob that wracks his whole body. 

Bill feels out of place. He quietly shoots off a text updating the Losers on what’s going on, only specific enough to let them know yet vague enough that Richie keeps his privacy. Bill feels like the world’s saddest voyeur. It’s all he can do to place a hand on Richie’s hunched shoulder to let him know he’s there. Richie leans into it and takes a shaky breath.

“Eddie, I’ve loved you since we were kids. And I know Bill said it too, but I promise I loved you differently. The big, soppy kind of love. The kind they make movies about. I wanted to buy you roses and all that gross romantic stuff. Not just when we were kids, actually. I loved you when I couldn’t remember you, and I—I still do. Love you, I mean. Even though you’re gone, you’re still the sole owner of my heart. Sorry, buddy.” He pauses, ducks his head. Bill swears the air around him is mourning, too. Before he can say anything, Richie picks back up. “I want you back more than anything, Eds. But… I want you to be safe and happy even more than that. And I know right now you aren’t, so. Here I am. I hope I can help you with your happy ending.”

“That was really sweet, Rich,” Bill says, squeezing Richie’s shoulder. Richie just sighs. “You know, I could be imagining it but I really feel like I can feel Eddie here. I think—I think it’s gonna be okay.”

“I always can,” Richie says, quiet as he’s ever been. The weight of it hits Bill like a physical blow. He imagines the months Richie has spent always feeling Eddie, that he’s felt him like a shadow since he died, small at first like tiny shadows at noon but now huge, stretching out from him like a shadow would in the evening just before nightfall. It makes his heart ache.

Richie’s phone buzzes suddenly, disturbing the silence that has fallen between them. They both startle.

“Uh, should I—” Richie starts, but he’s interrupted by it buzzing again. Richie yanks his phone out of his pocket with shaky hands. 

“Richie…” Bill warns, unsure of what he’s warning against. Richie pays him no mind. He fumbles to open his texts and freezes when they open to messages without a number attached. 

“Oh, God,” Bill whispers. He steps back to give Richie his space. The one biggest thing neither he nor Eddie have ever had is time—the least Bill can do is allow them it now, before the end. Quietly, he updates the group chat. It’s a miracle he even has service down here to do that much, but he’s not going to look that particular gift horse in the mouth.

After what feels like far too little time, Richie pulls himself up to his full height. His face is shining with tears, but Bill can’t fault him for it. He tries not to be too hypocritical, after all. Richie nods at him firmly.

“Eddie, he, uh. He said goodbye, so. I guess we should.” Richie gestures broadly at Eddie’s body. Bill nods.

They make quick work of sorting his bones into a pile. Richie nearly vomits again when he picks up Eddie’s skull, staring at it with wide, heartbroken eyes. Bill nudges him lightly.

“You about to start reciting Hamlet?” he teases, because Richie has always been the one to make jokes when things get tough and the least he can do is try to return the favor. Richie lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 

“What the fuck,  _ no,” _ he protests. It finally makes him set it down atop the pile, though, so Bill would consider it a victory.

The skull marks the final addition to their little burn pile. Bill finds himself frozen staring at it; by his side, it seems Richie is doing the same. After what may well have been years, he clears his throat hard.

“Right, okay. Let’s do this,” Bill says, forcing some cheer into his voice that he hasn’t felt truly in daysmonthsyears. He fumbles with the gasoline container they lugged all the way down here before pouring it onto the pile. Richie hands him a lighter and Bill dutifully doesn’t comment on the shakiness of his grip or his white knuckles. He reaches down and lights the nearest bone to him (it might be a femur, he was never great at that in school, he really doesn’t want to think about it). Clearing his throat, he chokes out a shaky, “Goodbye, Eddie. I hope this is— I mean. I hope you end up somewhere better. You deserve it more than anybody.”

“Bye, Eds. I love you,” Richie says. His voice sounds remarkably steady, but Bill supposes he’s always been good at Voices. If anyone knows how to put on a front, it’s him.

The fire smells horrid. The smoke is overwhelming and makes Bill’s eyes burn impossibly more. But he stands firm, watching the last remains of Eddie crumble into dust next to Richie, and he feels… no difference. He waits until the last embers flicker out before he turns to him, brow furrowed.

“Can you… still feel him, too?” Bill asks, and Richie lets out a deep breath.

“I thought I was making it up,” he admits. But Bill can feel Eddie just as surely as he could while speaking to him. He shakes his head firmly.

“Maybe text him?” Bill suggests. Richie gives him a boggled look but dutifully pulls his phone back out. He types away at it, and Bill is almost amused by how obviously confusion and concern spread across his features. Almost. “What? What’s wrong? What did he say?”

“He said he can’t,” Richie says. “He said he  _ tried to move on but he can’t, obviously, _ and then called me a dipshit for suggesting it in the first place because why would he want to stick around as a ghost in the first place, and then asked if I was an idiot.”

Richie rolls his eyes, but he’s obviously fond. He smiles softly down at his phone. Bill’s heart aches for him. More than that, though, he wants to figure out what the next step is.

“Okay, so… what now?” he asks. Richie glances back up at him with a life in his eyes Bill hasn’t seen in months at least. He knows what Richie wants before he even says it.

“Now we figure out something better.” 


End file.
